


Spoiled

by days4daisy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: But he’s maybe ok with that, Chocolate Box Treat, Fancy Tastes, Loki is in over his head, M/M, Thor: Ragnarok (2017)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-02 12:49:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13318452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: No one will ever accuse Loki of simple tastes.





	Spoiled

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spiderstanspiderstan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiderstanspiderstan/gifts).



> Hope you enjoy this little treat, spiderstanspiderstan :) Tacky M-rated romance spoke to me.

No one will ever accuse Loki of simple tastes. He was raised in wealth, surrounded by the finest of Asgardian riches. Statues built to the skies, the smoothest silks and mightiest weapons. Still, Loki yearned for more - power, glory, the kingship he was promised. Such an ignorant child, foolishly believing he carried favor with a father who was not, as it turned out, his own.

 _My sons_.

Days drift to weeks as Loki weaves himself into the fabric of this kingdom of oddities. How long has it been since he plunged from the sky and landed outside the gates of Sakaar? Loki shrugged off claims that time worked differently in this place, but now...

Thor must be dead. Or, at best, a slave to their sister’s mad whims. He was an oaf, a sentimental brute, but he was still _Thor_. His absence is...strange.

Thor, too, seems far away now, dimmed by the wealth of the present. His memory fades, as everything on this planet, into the opulence of too much time.

Even by Loki’s decadent tastes, Sakaar is a bit...garish. It is a hive of color and sound, nary a room without lively music or company. Here, one’s vices are over-compensated. A lush finds stockrooms stacked with liquor, a glutton enough food for three stomachs. Units soar from account to account, and gamblers cackle over rounds of dice.

And the hedonists? Well, they too are well-sated.

The Grandmaster’s private lounge boasts satin blue sofas, for no other reason than the Grandmaster likes it this way. Each room in this strange palace has been dressed to his peculiar whims. The one beside this is bathed in red - red curtains touching gold-edged red carpets. Red loveseats under a ceiling of ruby-tipped crystal chandeliers.

Loki rarely attends the red lounge. The Grandmaster prefers him in blue, and Loki wonders about the insinuation. He knows nothing of the Grandmaster’s kind, but his power is undeniable. A creature does not live millions of years without his share of secrets. Does he know what Loki hides under his Asgardian face? If so, what is the meaning of this little game? Or does the Grandmaster simply play for the fun of it?

Still, with no better plan at the moment, Loki can't see why he shouldn't enjoy himself.

A chalice dangles carelessly from Loki’s hand, drained minutes ago, or is it hours now? There are others in the room, favorites Loki recognizes from the Grandmaster's court. They chat and chortle, a pleasant buzz of activity. The lounge singer croons in a corner, blue ringlets down shoulders white as fresh frost. Her face is freckled pink, a constellation of dots on each cheek. A magnificent creature. Loki expects no less from a master who surrounds himself with only the most exquisite.

For this, Loki is grateful. He himself is quite exquisite, and his quality has kept him alive. It took little time for Loki to win the Grandmaster’s fickle gaze. Other wanderers to this strange planet have not been so lucky.

“Oh hey, _there_ you are!” Loki smiles at the thumb that coaxes the collar of his tunic down. Blue fabric, of course. Blue as his secret skin, or his lost brother’s eyes. The Grandmaster’s fingers scale Loki’s spine. Loki allows him time to admire his face. “Perfect,” the Grandmaster says. “I told them it was just right, this color - it’s so _you_ , isn't it?”

“Perfect,” Loki agrees, patiently soft.

This tunic is the latest in a line of the Grandmaster's wardrobe offerings. Upon winning early favor, Loki was escorted to the Grandmaster's personal tailor. His armor was in filthy tatters from the fall, and the Grandmaster surrounds himself only with pretty things.  _Anything you want, doll!_ he was cheerfully bid, and Loki was happy to accept. He fashioned himself new armor in leather as fine as Asgard ever produced. All was sized to perfection. Loki was pleased.

Subsequent attire has been selected at the Grandmaster's discretion. His current ensemble arrived this morning in a box with a blue lace ribbon. It's midnight color matched the shirt, fabric soft as a lover's breath. The neckline dips for a show of collarbone. By design, no doubt. This world is the Grandmaster's toy, Loki included. It is a small price to pay for status.

Loki tilts his head and fills the Grandmaster’s hand with his hair. The creature loves Loki’s hair; he plucks through strands like harp strings. Loki's empty cup clanks to the floor. The Grandmaster’s eyes show favor. “You’re the prettiest thing" he says. Power surges through the hands he drapes down Loki's shoulders, strength to snap Loki like a twig under a boot.

Loki shivers, but he is not afraid. So much power...

Loki lolls his head back to meet the Grandmaster’s gaze. It takes only a twitch of his lips to earn a wide, affectionate smile.

Everyday, Loki is gifted with fineties. Jewels. Wine. Food. On one occasion, lovers - a man and a woman, skin gold and glistening. Beautiful, doting, they washed him, rubbed oil into his skin, and pleasured him until he allowed himself to fully enjoy the odd offering.

Loki thinks of Thor again, but the memory flees quickly. Silly sentiment for one who was never his true brother. Perhaps it's for the best that fate carried Loki here. The Grandmaster is dangerous, but he is far from the worst master Loki has ever served. Here, even the threat of Thanos feels lifetimes away.

“You're not bored, are you?” The Grandmaster cups Loki's face in cool hands. Thumbs cross Loki’s lips, and his mouth opens, relief for a stuttered breath.

Sometimes, Loki wonders if he is being manipulated just as easily. Does it matter, so long as he and this creature both get what they desire?

Loki smiles. “Bored? Not at all,” he says. “Thank you for the invitation, and for the clothes. They-” Sudden heat swells in Loki’s chest and descends greedily to his loins. Shuddering, Loki grasps for his voice. “They - they’re exquisite, truly.” What new fun is this?

“That’s good, Lo,” the Grandmaster says, watching Loki's face with interest. He strokes Loki’s cheeks, and Loki strains for more. His body feels unbearably warm, a tingling flush that makes him shift and shiver. “Good, good. You’re quite exquisite too, you know. It wouldn’t do to have you in any old thing. No, you - darling, you deserve the _best_.”

 _Darling_. The word purrs delightfully through his veins. 

Loki gazes at the Grandmaster, his gold robes parted languidly at the chest. His skin is smooth, a strong body despite his age. Blue paints his face from lips to jaw, and Loki pleasantly imagines sucking the line from his skin. Loki feels more relaxed than he has in a century.

“The things I would do to you,” the Grandmaster murmurs.

“Do them,” Loki says with a smile. Perhaps his permission is offered too freely. But why wait? Why dawdle in this marvelous world where time itself is a playground? Thor is dead. Asgard burns. He has suffered far worse fates than his present standing on Sakaar.

The Grandmaster holds his gaze as he rounds to the sofa’s front. He rests a hand on Loki’s chest, nails painted night blue to match Loki’s tunic. On purpose, no doubt. The creature has strange ways of staking his claim.

Is this skin the Grandmaster wears his true visage, Loki wonders. Or is his true self something far grander? Loki finds himself partial to this face. The Grandmaster is an oddity, uniquely sensual. His demeanor is whimsical, but threat edges the gaze that ravages Loki’s body. Loki will be loved here, adored even, so long as Loki behaves. Loki accepts these terms gladly.

For now, anyway, until a more appealing option presents itself.

The Grandmaster crooks a single finger. Loki comes as beckoned, their game demands it, and sits up to meet the Grandmaster's kiss. Power thrums under Loki's hands, and he gasps against the Grandmaster’s mouth. How he delights in power, even here.

“They’re watching, you know,” the Grandmaster whispers, playful, as if they are co-conspirators in some scheme. “They’ve never seen anything like you. I haven’t either, I've gotta tell you. A prince, you said? A prince of Asplace?”

 _Asgard_ , Loki thinks, but it does not feel important. Very little does, save the Grandmaster’s hands framing his back. “A prince, yes,” Loki says, voice less steady than he would like.

“Royalty,” the Grandmaster hums. “Don’t get much of that here. _Stars_ , you’re the sweetest thing. Come on up here, darling." He sits and pats his lap. "Don’t be shy, come on.”

Loki should be bristling and rethinking this strategy. The eyes of the room are on him. This is humiliating, unacceptable. But Loki finds himself unable to muster his usual affront. His irritation melts like wax from a candle.

Loki straddles the Grandmaster’s waist. His leather slacks stretch around his thighs. Loki sighs, and the Grandmaster purrs. “Oh. _Gorgeous_ , Lo. Look at you.” He slides an appreciative hand down Loki’s bottom. New heat blossoms under Loki's clothes. “Sensitive,” the Grandmaster smiles, “I like that. You’d think a guy like me could handle a little competition. But, I'll admit it, I'm a softie.” He plucks Loki’s bottom lip like a rose petal, and Loki sucks in a breath. “I like having pretty things all to myself.”

Loki offers his most winning grin. “So you shall, my friend,” he says.

Unwise, perhaps. Now that the offer is made, Loki will have to hold to it to keep up this ruse. This ruse… If Loki is in control of their game anymore. 

The Grandmaster squeezes between Loki's legs, and Loki’s breath chokes away. “You sure, darling?” His eyes twinkle knowingly. “I can have you all to myself?”

Perhaps this isn't the wisest strategy but...

“Yes,” Loki says, tangled in the Grandmaster’s ridiculous robes. “Yes, of course." He can't, for the life of him, think of a good reason to say no.

*The End*


End file.
